


Maybe It's Better This Way

by averyfunnystory



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Bullying, Developing Relationship, Homophobia, M/M, There will be deaths, Unrequited Prospitcest crush, school au, teen drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averyfunnystory/pseuds/averyfunnystory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being gay, ugly, awkward and absolutely the epitome of horrible I should have seen all this coming. I shouldn't complain when they push me down and call me names. I've been doing some thinking and now that I look back I probably deserve all this. Maybe it's better this way. Or maybe this new alcoholic, drug addicted problem child will do what he promised and change my views on everything and show me that I'm worth while.<br/>Good luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Constructing John Egbert

**Author's Note:**

> \--Please Read Me--  
> I have had this idea in my head for a while, an AU where John is bullied and Dave is drug addicted and an alcoholic. I decided to give it a shot but with a very different type of writing style that I've seen in very few books. You don't use quotations so at first it may be confusing but you can get the hang of it! Just gotta see what is obviously talking and what isn't. This is the first chapter of a very very long fanfiction and I will tag things as I go along because I'm not 100% sure on where I will take every little detail of this right now. I'm setting it as mature for now; I know for a fact there will be smut and a lot of other unsettling triggers.

Six in the morning, my unused and forgotten alarm had gone off. Gradually, my eyes open and I stop the sound of the alarm. As I shuffle out of bed I go about the usual but unfamiliar tasks of getting ready in the morning. Brush my hair, my teeth, get dressed and put my glasses on, making up to be what is now John Egbert. Every morning I wake up unidentified, someone who could be constructed into someone that is not John Egbert, possibly someone better. But I always choose to mold myself into John Egbert. Change is hard. And maybe it’s better that way. I take my medication, like every morning, then look at myself in the mirror and realize it’s been over ten days since I’ve looked at myself, I guess I just didn’t have any reason to these few days. But now I’m just checking to make sure I won’t stand out to any particular audiences. Long sleeved white shirt with a green ghost on it, black messy hair, I’m still shorter than the average sixteen year old, and my teeth protrude slightly from the confinements of my upper lip. I don’t think I’ll stand out. I look at myself, John Egbert, the boy I’ve constructed over the past sixteen years and exhale the breath I’ve been holding. I look at myself and I make a promise, a promise that there will be no repeats. Everything is fresh and new. Everything is okay. I can be a different John Egbert.  
Dad walked in.  
John? You up?  
I gift him a smile and nod.  
Ready for school?  
Another nod then silence.  
John I-…I’m sorry we can’t afford private school anymore. You know, my job and all and the economy is bad and taxes are due. You’re so young you probably don’t understand but listen to me, if there are any problems you call me. You call me and I’ll be there in a second.  
I sighed. Dad has turned into a broken record ever since he got laid off and had to get a job that paid not even half what he used to make. One day I could go out and buy anything I wanted and then the day after we are completely broke and worrying if we’ll even have food. Financial crisis isn’t very original, and I’m sure others have it worse. But I think I’ll give whatever is spent my food up just so I don’t have to go back to my old school. He knew he promised I didn’t and that’s what made this all the worse. Me and dad are close and breaking promises is just not a thing that happens. A promise is a promise.  
Shortly after dad left for work I walked to the bus stop, my backpack on and worry and anxiousness dragging along my exhausted teenage body. The sun has just barely risen and the sky is cloudy and as I look up at it I remember a quote from a book with a guy saying about how he can see dawn is called mourning. I feel as if it’s relevant. As I wander closer to the old desired bus stop as soon as I see the sign of another peer and wait for the bus many feet away. My eyes don’t leave the other children, though, and a part of me is encouraging me to go over there and take a lucky swing at making friends. Not going in a loop and repeating the previous years would include meeting people, at least acquiring an acquaintance. But my feet won’t move and the bus comes for us to get on and I get on last.  
Silently I curse to myself as I see the seats closest to the bus driver are taken by anticipated, nerve-wreaked freshman. I gulp and move further back on the bus. The furthest seat from the back and any familiar faces is on the right side of the bus, four seats back. I claim the uninhabited cheaply leathered seat and drop my bag to the floor. I look down, not daring to close my eyes to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep, and my hands are shaking. Sweat begins to gather at the top of my forehead and my heart races. I’m scared. That gets me thinking. A place that is meant for education (ha-ha) has terrified me to no end. I’m scared and I wish I could escape but there’s no other option and that makes me even more scared. I’m shaking.  
I feel something graze the top of my head after the bus gets to one of its last stops. It startles me and I sit up, looking around. Another comes flying at the back of my head and lands in my seat. I look down. Paper? When I turn around I get pelted with more, most hitting my face. The bus erupts into laughter.  
Look it, Egbert’s back.  
Man, this year let’s keep count of his tears. Take a shot every time we reach one hundred.  
C’mon, that’d fucking kill us. We don’t want that unlike some people here.  
My breathing increases and I feel myself get dizzy. It’s been a few minutes, I’m not even at school yet and it’s already starting again, I’m back in the loop and there’s no way around it. It’s permanent and I’m trapped. My chest is tight as I shrivel up and hunch in my bus seat. They’ll go away, they’ll go away, they’ll go away. I feel a slight shift in the seat and I look over and see empty eyes and an evil smirk on the small head of a large built body. I bite my lip.  
Well hey there.  
An arm wraps around my shoulder and I bite harder.  
We all missed you Egbert where’d ya’ go?  
No answer.  
Well aren’t you going to answer me?  
The hand on my shoulder flicks me in my ear, causing me to flinch and more laughter to arise.  
Probably some institute for little homos like you. Ugly, pathetic faggots whose best friend is their dad.  
I felt the sting of salty tears in my eyes and a hand on my hair, promptly pulling at it enough to hurt but not enough to move me. My eyes shifted up to him, dark shaggy hair, piercings, and bags under his cold empty eyes.  
The hair puller spoke.  
Damn I forgot how fucking ugly you were. I feel like I shouldn’t be touching your disgusting hair, I might catch something.  
More laughter. Why is there so much laughter?  
Man, look at this, he is already crying. What a fucking priss. What? Do you automatically gain more tears than the average girl when you fuck a dude?  
Nah, it’s just his AIDs acting up.  
There’s laughter. Why is that funny? Why is a disease funny? Crying has nothing to do with a disease that I don’t even have.  
This is the fucking loop I was dreading. It’s all going to happen again. I knew it. Dad knew it. The therapists knew it and that’s why they ordered me to go to a different school. And they all made sure I knew it too the entire bus ride there. 

The hallways at school are quiet; they’re eerie, just full of sunken and discouraged faces. I get a few looks and that make me shrink down tenfold. I don’t like it. Stop looking at me. They turn to each other a whisper and laugh. Stop whispering, stop laughing. Please. My hands clutch around my Science textbook and binder as I shuffle my way to find my first period class. Good thing they give out these maps the first day or it’d take me hours to navigate myself around. Fortunately, I arrive on time with no disruptions in the hallway. I sigh my relief and walk in. Inside is the teacher, a man with broad shoulders and judging by the length of his legs that when he stands he will be a building dressed in a suit. He has a slight five o’clock shadow and an angered expression with sullen, empty eyes that are scanning over a—...well let’s just say if I was caught with that type of magazine I’d probably be grounded for a good long while. It made me nervous, especially when he looked up at me.  
Well? Ya’ gonna say something?  
This caught me off guard and I was stuck on my words.  
Do we get to sit where we want?  
Yeah. I don’t choose seat fer ya’. Sit where ever.  
I blink a few times a nod as he goes back to his magazine. I look at the class. There are kids eyeing me from the back, looking at me like I’m their prey and they go to say something to the kids next to them. One of them is the hair puller on my bus from this morning. In the way front, both tables are taken except for one that has someone I've never seen before sitting in it. His legs are up; he’s leaning back as he takes gentle and small swigs from a water bottle and his eyes are hidden by a pair of sunglasses. I wonder if that’s against the dress code or some rule. My hand starts to shake and I look at the back of the class, the kids who look like they’ll pounce on me at any moment and then to the shades kid.  
I choose the shades and quickly take my seat next to him.  
From the corner of my eye, I see his head tilt slightly towards me. I can guess he’s trying to take a slight sideways glance at me and I instantly tense up. His head turns back silently and he just takes another swig from the water bottle. When he breaths out a sigh right after, though, my eyes widen. That was definitely not the smell you get from water. It was a crisp, strong smell that almost burned my nose when I inhaled. I know it from the whiskey my dad drinks after bad days and before he smokes his pipe. This moron is drinking alcohol in class. I almost can’t believe it and for some reason I get more nervous and the awkwardness doubles. So I pretend like I’m actually doing something instead of silently judging him by organizing my organized binder.  
His head tilts back over lazily to me.  
Hey. You new here?  
His voice actually slurred a little. How drunk even is this guy?  
No.  
Wouldn't have guessed. I’m Dave. You?  
John.  
He examined his bottle and saw that only the bottom half was left. The rest was just chugged down in the matter of minutes. I blinked. It’s seven in the morning and this—I’m guessing—sixteen year old is getting drunk. I've never seen anything like this before. I thought it only existed in after school specials and movies and bad neighborhoods. Why are you getting drunk? And at school! What’s the point of showing up at school drunk, it’s not like anyone could ever learn like that! I guess this explains his shades too; I’ll bet his eyes are glossy, red, and empty. But then it takes me a moment to realize that someone actually talked to me. A person my age talked to me and didn't call me faggot or ugly or shit like it was my name.  
Please, talk to me again.  
Class starts and class ends, he doesn't talk to me again but I don’t really blame him. Quickly and just like that. My first period, Science, is taught by Mr. Boxcars. He seems kind of grumpy and he was just as tall as I expected him to be. I’m going to make extra careful not to get on his bad side. We got the gist of how the class will be. Physical science, studying the body of organisms, stuff such as that. I’m looking forward to the dissecting. When the bell rings all the kids start pouring out and I wait until most of them are out the door by the time I’m packing up my things. I watch as the kid next to me stands slowly, packing his things and walking off, bumping into the doorway accidentally as he takes his leave. I shake my head.  
Stupid, stupid, stupid.  
Second, third, fourth and so on pass. They pass and I didn’t say a single word. I had no other class with sunglasses and I didn’t see him at lunch either and when I realize I made a note of that I think to myself. He’s the only one today who hasn’t called me a name, shoved me, kicked me down when attempting an interaction with me. He said hi, introduced himself and finished his whiskey in class. I made a mental mark of him and in my mind I pretended like he was a friend. A very distant friend. Yeah, we’ve known each other for years and he’s the coolest guy in school. We hang out every weekend, go to parties, talk on the phone, text. No one is better friends than us. No, we never fight we’re too good of friends. Two peas in a pod. The peanut butter to my jelly. Best friends forever. In my mind I pictured all of these things and it got me through the day and I know they’re not true but I just wish he knew how much him talking to me actually meant and I really wish I could remember his name.  
I could almost consider him a living imaginary friend.  
I rode the bus home after gathering my stuff from my new locker. Same thing happened from this morning, the consistent picking on and teasing. Each word felt like a new needle being shoved under my skin, just adding to the million other that have been stuck for years. I bite my tongue. I’ve learned that if I try to say something back it only feeds their satisfaction and weird desire for my misery. My face will cringe when I’m punched or when my ear is pulled hard and that’s my only reaction. I just hate when they take pictures of me and laugh when they tell me to look at how ugly and stupid I look all the time. I’m fine though. I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve come to terms with myself and accepted all the things they are saying to me. They definitely still hurt and believing them makes it all the worse. 

I get home and my dad is there. The only up side of my dad working this horrible, low paying job is that he’s home more. I walk through the door and pass the living room on the way. He’s sitting there, reading his newspaper and smoking his pipe with a piece of cake right next to him. Dad once got the idea that I absolutely loved cake and now he doesn't stop making it. I appreciate him for that and it makes me happy despite the fact that every time I see cake now I just want to throw up. He goes above and beyond for me and I hate knowing that it’s just going to wear off one day and he won’t care as much. It’s true, what the kid on the bus stop said this morning, dad is my only friend.  
How was school, John?  
I stop in my tracks on the way upstairs and pause for a single moment.  
Good.  
Were people nice?  
In my head I screamed no. I screamed no and I ran to my room, closed the door and did what I promised I’d never do again. But I just stayed where I was and gave him a weak yes.  
Great! Make any new friends?  
My mind’s gears stopped for a single moment and I pictured Dave. The cool kid sitting next to me who said three sentences to me. Three whole non-aggressive sentences. All day I have been telling myself I made a friend, but that was just a crutch I leaned on. I knew it wasn’t true. That kid will never be actual friends with me and I know it. Probably the only reason he talked to me is because he was completely drunk. He just has a soul that doesn’t hunger for hatred, I can tell. And who knows, judging by the alcohol he had maybe he’s dealt with something seriously bad too and wouldn’t ever make anyone feel as bad as he did. That’s how I am at least.  
No. I didn’t.  
Well it’s only the first day, John. Keep your head up. I’m so proud of you for being so brave.  
Thanks, dad.  
I went up to my room, closed the door, took my medicine, and turned on a movie. For my entire life I have been pent up in this room by myself, no one to share it with, and I don’t think that will be changing any time soon. I’m fine by myself, I always think, but then I’d sit and cry about the loneliness. I contradict myself and I hate it. I hate being so small, I hate not defending myself, I hate the kids at my school, I hate the aviators kid for giving me hope, I hate this town, I hate being alone and most of all I hate myself. I’m scared and I don’t want to relapse. I know all I need is a friend but no one is willing to hear me out. No one would be caught dead being seen next to me.  
I’m John Egbert and I am nothing. I will never be anything. And maybe it’s better that way.


	2. Remembering Jade Harley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've mastered the arts of procrastination. This short little fuck took me over a month. Cheers.

You know, I wasn’t always this alone. I had a friend once. Her name was Jade Harley. We met when we were five and she came to visit Washington with her grandfather. Dad and I were down by the coast for the day. It was rainy like it always is there and the water was freezing cold so you could only see the little speck of surfers way out into the ocean. Dad and I would sit on the beach and make sandcastles while he smoked a pipe. When it would get too cold and windy we would go to a nearby shack to drink hot chocolate and get food for the seagulls. I was five the first time I saw her and I’ll never forget it.   
Her, her grandfather and her fluffy white dog were playing on the beach. She wore a long white skirt and a grey diamond shirt, big framed glasses like mine—only circled instead of squared—surrounded her big green eyes. She and her family had just gotten to the beach as my dad and I sat in the shack drinking hot chocolate. Now that I think about it he probably saw me staring at her in awe as I left my cup ignored. That’s also probably why he took me over to introduce ourselves. As any shy five year old around strangers would, I hid behind my dad as he talked with her grandfather as she stood there, smiling at me while she pat her dog’s head. I stared at the way her hair flew with the wind and how she smiled at me, no kids I knew ever smiled at me. They just put glue in my hair and call me stupid; but looking at Jade, I knew even at the age of five that her smile was sincere.   
After we got acquainted I let her play with my sand castle toys as she told me all about herself. She lived on an island with only her and her family populating the entire land. She was really into science and robots and told me all about her big garden full of flowers. And on those days when her grandfather was away on business trips—AKA adventures that were far too dangerous for a five year old to endure—her dog, Bec, would take care of her. He was a good dog. She also told me about her guns and how good she is with them. She stopped making her sandcastle for a second and leaned forward to me, telling me she had a gun on her at that very moment and that she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without one. My face turned a deathly white and I stiffened. She could’ve killed me at any second and I knew that.   
I remember she giggled at the fact that I grew so scared of her then asked me about myself. I just told her that I was five, liked the piano, and liked pranking. I blushed when she tried to get me to answer more about myself because there was literally nothing else I could answer with. I could’ve told her about my bullies but I wasn’t about to go there; I lied and told her I had a ton of friends in the first grade and even had befriended second graders. But instantaneously, I regretted saying that because she went on to say that her only friends were her grandpa and Bec. Because they were the only ones on that island there wasn’t much of a way for her to make friends. That was the first time I didn’t feel so alone.   
That was Jade’s last day there before the next time she visits. Me and her exchanged our phone numbers and emails so we could keep in touch, and we definitely did. We talked from the moment I got home until my dad pried the phone from my hands to get me to go to sleep. We’d talk about our day, or a funny thing that happened or something new and exciting we just found out. With Jade, nothing was ever sad. We always talked about things that made us happy, and she never called me stupid for liking something like magic or Nick Cage. She was the greatest person I’ve ever met and I felt almost as if I owed it to Jade for putting up with someone like me. I sent her presents every once in a while but she sent some things back. Like this cool t-shirt that I now wear almost every day. I didn’t want her to send anything to me, just her talking to me is enough of a present.   
But when I got to see her, I had never been happier. We always ran at each other the second we came into view and jumped at each other, latched on and refused to let go. For the entire time she visited, she wouldn’t leave my side, even at night we’d sleep together, but my dad stopped that once I was eight. I didn’t know why at the time and we both threw a tantrum that probably killed my father’s ear drums. I guess I know why he did it now though. Sad thing is, even now if she was in bed with me I wouldn’t do anything. I never developed a crush on her like everyone thought. An even sadder thing is that our friendship was turned into an unrequited romance. When I was ten Jade called me and told me her feelings for me. She told me she’s had the biggest crush on me for years and she decided this was the day she’d finally tell me because that day was my birthday; I was celebrating it alone until my dad came home and we’d make a cake together. I was alone and I didn’t know how to respond to her because for some odd reason I didn’t feel the same and I felt awkward. I shifted my feet and stood silent, trying to come up with something to say and I wasn’t about to go and lie to her. I guess she got the message from the silence and eventually hung up on me, leaving me to sit there and go over how I felt for her. I loved her. I loved her a lot but not in a romantic, boyfriend girlfriend way and I didn’t know why. I had to sit on my bed and think about if I’m going to call her and lie to her and say that I actually do have feelings for her and I’d love to be her boyfriend. But I never did. And she didn’t call me that entire week.   
When she did finally call me it was weird and just different from the fun we used to have talking. She called less and less and I think just stopped after I was eleven. She would send me a message over a chat client we found when I was ten every once in a while and we’d talk for a few perfect minutes until she’d pretend that she was going to go to sleep or that her grandpa needed something. I was just thankful she still messaged me whenever she was visiting. When Jade visited I always was at my happiest and I felt the emptiness inside me fill up. It felt like old times when she was here, reminding me of when we’d talk for hours without end. I was twelve at that time and it was the last time I saw her.   
She just all out stopped calling me a few days after she got back home. I thought she was mad at me for not liking her back and eventually I got so desperate to talk to her I left her a few voicemails saying that I will date her and I actually do like her. I didn’t get a response from that either. I’d lie in my bed a remind myself how it’s my fault, how I drove her away and I’m too stupid not to like girls that way like all the other boys and that someone like me shouldn’t have any friend. I cried every night, knowing that she was out there, being happy with her family and probably new friends, putting her in a better mood after ignoring my existence. It hasn’t happened in years but yet again, I was alone and the thought haunted me so much I stopped sleeping. And yet, I still called. I called every day only to hear the message beep and to feel my heart sink lower. Until one day her grandfather answered.   
I try not to remember this. All my effort and energy is put towards not remembering his words. But that all goes to waste because I know for a certain fact that his words will be on repeat until the day I die and maybe even after.  
Son, stop calling. Jade is gone. She was in a hunting accident.   
Twelve words and he hung up. And I never heard from the Harleys again.   
Every morning I get up, I construct myself into the person now known as John Egbert. I get dressed, brush my teeth and take my pills. It’s the similarity and the isolation that keeps me safe. Because I’ve learned that the people who don’t know you can and will put forth their efforts to hurt you. But if you get close to someone, all they’ll do is indirectly leave thorns under your fingernails.   
From time to time I still talk to her. Jade. She still helps me; she still makes me smile in the bitterest way. Somewhere in my mind, she’s still here, she’s still around me. She can see me, hear me and talk to me. I can still hear her giggle and laugh. I’m not crazy—I’m all alone.


	3. Exchanging Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all pretend I didn't disappear for several months.

Ow.  
Ouch. Fuck. Ow!  
In front of me I stare into my reflection and wince. Sticking out from my dark hair is a light pink piece of gum that’s completely stuck, holding on with its tightest grip. I use my fingernails to pick at it to try and possibly get enough out to not be noticeable. But the more I pick the more it stretches to more parts of my hair, messing it up further. Heaving a sigh, I look down in defeat and smooth my hair over so it sticks to the gum even more—but at least it’s hidden.  
Great way to start off another week, huh? Nothing is better than a hair with a wad of gum in it. The feeling of the slimy, sticky piece makes me uncomfortable though, like I have a big insect in my hair that’s feeding off my skin. The thought makes me shiver and cringe all the way from one side of the school to my first period. I entered and saw what I see every day. Punks in the back, a clique of girls clustered together in the middle, the teacher and then…  
What’s his name again? As I sat down next to him I gave him a few sideways glances. He was sipping from a water bottle again. The clear liquid passing as water didn’t easily deceive me, especially when the smell is as potent as it is. It smells crisp and bitter, something that can easily burn your nose if you smell too close to it. Whatever he had seemed to be practically poison. Definitely not healthy in the least bit. I think to myself how he could drink this stuff every day like that. If he continues on it will surely lead to an ultimate death.  
He tipped the bottle toward me and said.  
You’re eyeing this like it’s the sweetest candy that you’ll ever lay eyes on. So fuckin’ sweet that it’s practically sour and will probably mess up your mouth, so better watch out kid.  
What was with that short analogy he just gave me? The way he talked was weird. Words roll of his lips so gently and easily it makes me jealous because you’d give anything to be that smooth.  
My voice faltered.  
Uh, no thanks.  
Why not? With your fists all clenched and shoulders tensed I can practically hear the inner you crying out for some loosening up.  
I unclenched my hands.  
I don’t drink. Especially not in school.  
Why not?  
It’s school.  
So?  
How are you supposed to learn when you’re drunk?  
He laughed a little, his flat lined lips curling up slightly.  
Well how do you learn when people fuck with you by let’s say…putting gum in your hair?  
My hand went to my head to flatten my hair over it, trying to hide it more than before. All I wanted to do was take a pair of scissors and just chop it out. But then that’d leave me with either a bald spot or a hideous stray strand of hair which would give people more of a reason to make me feel bad. He started talking again.  
Look. At lunch get a peanut butter sandwich and go into the bathroom and spread it all over that shit then wash it out with soap and water. Worked when I was a kid, should work for you.  
I blinked a little. For someone that drinks a lot he’s definitely kind. People who drink before ten in the morning are usually alcoholics or at least turn out to be ones. I learned this once from my dad. Apparently, at some point in his life, he was a heavy drinker before he found me. He lost friends and a good amount of money just for a strong liquid. Addiction will never make sense to me. How could anyone choose a beverage over their entire life? Whatever happened to my dad to let him lose himself like that, I’d never let happen to me.  
Your name is Dave right…?  
I felt this strange feeling of confidence surge through me. As I walked through the halls and to my remaining classes I didn’t walk with my head as far down, I didn’t start to sweat if I hear laughter around me. My blood didn’t turn to ice if I heard footsteps behind me. My shoulders weren’t hunched like an old person’s. This is what it’s like to have a friend. It’s as if a new light is brimming down on me and horns are being played in a congratulatory way for my succession. That may have been as far as I could have possibly exaggerated it but it’s all true to me. I’m not even sure if I should even consider Dave a friend but all I know for sure is that he is different.  
He’s different from all the people that shove me down and call me names. He reached out and communicated with me like I was his equal. Years of belittlement has left a mark but maybe Dave will be able to clear everything up and make my life just the least bit better. Maybe Dave will become my best friend. Maybe Dave will introduce me to his friends and maybe they’ll be my friends. Maybe everything will turn better. Maybe everything will be okay.  
Peanut butter is gross. It’s oily and brown and mushy and for some reason made my fingers just a little tingly. I paid no mind to it and spread it in my hair over the piece of gum. I hope this works and the sandwich I defiled won’t die in vain. Bluh. The creamy substance makes the gum even slimier and oozy under my fingertips. But as I look in the mirror, it starts sliding out slowly. I start getting my hopes up and I take soap and water just like Dave said and I pull the rest out in one piece. I blinked and stared at the piece for a long time. This is the bridge between Dave and mine’s friendship. The pink—now brownish—sticky piece of saliva filled gum is what is bringing us together. Should I keep it?  
Of course I didn’t keep the gum. Where would I even put it? It’s a gross peanut butter covered piece of chewed gum that came from someone who looked like they need more dental care than me. And that’s fucking bad. I threw it away instantly but for the next few classes my hand got itchy and swelled up a little. Small hives began to pop up and that’s when I started to worry. Am I allergic to peanut butter? How could I go this long without knowing? It’s not like I’ve never had peanut butter before… Truthfully, I can’t even remember the last time I had peanut butter. Oh my god have I never had peanut butter? The thing I call a life has reached levels that had to dig under rock bottom to get to.  
Evidently, I’m allergic to peanuts. Highly allergic apparently. The nurse is so nice though. She’s short and always wears a little bandana over her head which matches her colorful dresses. Ms. Paint is her name; at least that’s what everyone calls her. She’s married to one of my teachers, Mr. Spade, my history teacher. They’re the weirdest couple though. Ms. Paint is a sweet caring woman and Mr. Spade well… he’d pause every minute to discuss this history of knives. The Swiss knife, the butcher knife, the common kitchen knife, knives attached to guns, the oldest knife in the world. Anything there is to know about knives he knows. I guess most can just assume how well behaved everyone is in that classroom.  
School nurses aren’t allowed to give the students medicine so my dad picked me up early to give me the allergy medicine I needed. Since the stuff made me drowsy my dad let me come home with him. My head rested against the window and I slowly dosed off to sleep.  
I fell asleep in the car but when I opened my eyes it was six in the afternoon and I was tucked in neatly to my bed. My mind conjured up this sudden picture of my dad carrying me all the way up to my room. I laughed in my head but I knew he probably did it. Couldn’t be too hard, I’m a good 115 — maybe 120 pounds. He’d never let me sleep anywhere other than a bed anyway, especially a car. As I parted my lips to yawn they stuck together slightly from being dried together. I closed my mouth again and tasted my mouth, knowing I probably had awful breath. Blood started rushing to my body and I sluggishly moved my limbs, sucking in a deep breath. My bony arms wrapped tightly around my pillow, closing my eyes again to see if I could squeeze in another hour or so of sleep.  
Hours later I woke up again but this time my dad was sitting on the edge of my bed, waking me up with his large, calloused hand in my hair.  
John? Are you awake?  
I gave him a weak nod and sighed, keeping my eyes closed.  
You need to wake up now, remember the doctors don’t recommend too much time in bed.  
Crust had formed around my eyes and I closed them, wiping it away softly to detach it from my skin. I sat up.  
Yeah, there you go son. I made dinner so come down when you’re ready.  
It didn’t take me very long to get out of bed. Usually when I wake up it takes a lot of will power that I don’t have to so much as sit up. For once I actually feel good. My body isn’t so heavy, my chest doesn’t feel tight and moving does not make me feel like the tin man without oil. Overall, I think I might start climbing back up from rock bottom. What’s there to lose?  
I go downstairs, eat dinner with my dad. Most of the time we’re silent but it’s not because we’re mad at each other, we just have nothing to say anymore. I usually try to talk though.  
Dad if I was offered alcohol should I take it?  
He stopped for a minute, most likely in thought. I know this is a touchy subject to suddenly get into.  
No.  
What if it got me friends?  
Then they’re not real friends.  
But what if it was just a sip?  
John, where is this coming from?  
His paper folded down and he looked at me with a tired expression. It made me sink down in my chair slightly and play with the crumbs left of my dinner plate.  
Nowhere.  
Nowhere?  
Nowhere.  
I have a plan. Tomorrow at school when Dave comes in with his water bottle I’ll ask for a sip and chug some down. Just from that, I doubt I’ll get drunk. Doesn’t it take about three of those bottles to get wasted anyway? I should be completely fine and stable. After he sees how cool I’ll be and how well I handle it then maybe he will give me his phone number and we could text. Then he’d invite me to parties and I’d meet more friends there. This plan is full proof. All I need to do is show him exactly how much we are alike. Nothing can go wrong.  
The next morning was a pain in the ass. I was rigged with excitement and somehow the bullies knew. They can sense a feeling beyond fear is how I’m taking it. Long story short after the bus ride I was dragged off and pulled into the bathroom where they dunked my head in the toilet and proceeded to tie me up. What I really wanted to know was why did they bring rope with them to school? As I sat on the wet, sticky bathroom floor I thought long and hard about this. They must really have nothing better to do than to make me feel awful. They went home, sat down with their families, ate dinner, went to their room and thought of ways to hurt me. For people that call me a loser I really am starting to question who the loser really is.  
Another long story short after my deep thinking I started to panic once the bell rang and cried out for help. A generous janitor answered my calls and cut me loose.  
Gracias senioro.  
The man rolled his eyes.  
You’re welcome kid.  
He spoke in perfect English.  
With my books firm in my hands I sprinted. I was already ten whole minutes late to my first class. Toilet water dripped down my face and cooled over the small mark I got from bumping my head on the seat. My glasses were foggy, making seeing almost impossible so I had to squint at every room number I passed, making me over 15 minutes late.  
Eventually I did reach my class.  
You know how when you enter a room and for some reason you become the most important thing in the world and everyone has to stare at you for a total of five seconds? And how it’s probably the most awkward thing in the world? That’s exactly what is happening now except ten times worse because I’m soaking wet, panting, and bleeding from my arm. The laughter quickly arose, starting from the back. I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears away. My face lit up to the darkest red imaginable and I felt it spread all the way to my ears.  
Jesus Christ, Egbert. Sit down or go to the clinic.  
More laughter, I turned into a statue and the only thing moving was my beating heart. I started to panic and I wanted to pull at my hair or claw my way through my skin but I couldn’t move. I also wanted to run away but I couldn’t move. I also wanted to climb to the highest building in town and push myself off it. I pictured it, free falling off a building. Wind rushing through my hair, the feeling of complete weightlessness. I bet it would feel like an eternity before you eventually reach the ground and splat. What if it knocked the soul out of you and you continued free falling without ending. Right off the Earth, into space, beyond any reachable distance and end up where no other soul could ever put you in the position of killing yourself.  
Hello? Ya’ hear what I’m tellin’ ya’?  
I was snapped back into reality and it hit me like a brick wall. My head hung low as I quickly took my seat next to Dave. He looked at me without any expression I could see then back at the teacher. Did he laugh like all the rest? I’m trying to tell myself that he’d never do a thing like that but I don’t even know him how would I know if he laughed or not? My heart sank low when I remembered the plan. I lied my head down to the cold surface of my desk. Why would he ever be friends with me anyway? He’s cool and slick and probably has a ton of friends. He’s the bad boy that gets a new girlfriend every twenty minutes. He’s…sliding a piece of paper in my direction?  
I looked up at him; he’s looking in the direction of the teacher. No, that piece of paper is not for me. Why would it be for me? It can’t be for me.  
He slid it closer.  
I’m not taking it. I know it’s not for me, his arm is probably getting lazy or the desk must be polished really nice by that sweet janitor.  
It was then placed on my face and rubbed on my cheek.  
Alright it’s for me. I sat up to take the paper from his hand to unfold then read. My hands shook badly, anticipating what it says on the note. It’s probably something like ‘Need an umbrella?’ ‘Nice look—stupid fits you well.’ Some one-liner that will sink my self-esteem even further down into self-esteem hell.  
‘why does it seem like this whole school is out to slice and dice your ass like a first class karate master’  
Romantic. But it did make me laugh a little to myself. Slicing and dicing? Karate master? The way he talked and wrote was either genius or insane. I loved it. I feel like I could talk to him for days straight. Or that I could live solely off the sentences he creates. They could be my air and food. Just pump my veins full of first class karate masters and that’s how I’ll survive.  
On the back of it I replied with the truth summed up as much as I can. I could write an entire novel depicting why I think my fellow school mates treat me like the absolute worst shit. All I wrote was four words and that’s all I needed.  
‘i’m an easy prey.’  
I slid the paper to him and placed it under his hand. My mind tried to get me to panic again, telling me that I got too close to him and our hands almost touched and he’s not gay and he’s going to freak out and he will hate me like the rest of this world seems to. He didn’t seem to react badly though. He simply took the paper and read it with a calm expression then began replying. Everything was okay. He’s still talking to me. He doesn’t find me disgusting. He slid over the same piece of paper, on his side he added more.  
‘hit me up on pester chum turntechGodhead’  
I blinked.  
Hitting up means messaging, right?


End file.
